Igor wiped sweat from his forehead and studied the dark clouds building on the horizon. The storm would bring heat, not cold, and heat meant rot. His collection of preserved organs sat in shallow holes scattered across the desert floor, kept cool by the night air and morning shade. He grabbed armfuls of thorny brambles from the desert scrub and dragged them toward his most precious specimens. The thorns tore at his hands, but he didn't stop. He packed wet clay between the branches, shaping a dome over each cluster of organs. The butterflies he'd crafted from vulture lungs and traveler intestines needed protection most of all. If a real scientist ever came to see his work, these would prove his genius. By the time the first hot wind hit, Igor had built six bramble shelters across the sand. He crouched inside the largest one, listening to the storm howl outside. His flesh-poems were safe. Now he just needed someone brilliant enough to appreciate them. But the smoke from his morning campfire twisted in the wrong direction. Igor crawled out and saw thick black columns rising from beyond the ridge. The storm wasn't just bringing heat. It was driving travelers toward his territory. He smiled and checked his collection jars. Fresh specimens would arrive soon, and maybe, just maybe, one of them would have the genius brain he needed. The desert always provided.